Bye-Bye Baby, Baby Goodbye
by iRamble
Summary: When the Impala is destroyed, Dean is distraught and it's up to Sam to make sure his brother pulls through. But all is not as it seems… - (slightly fluffy with a bit of angst); Oneshot;


Disclaimer: _All characters appearing in Supernatural are copyright Kripke/CW/WB etc. No infringement of these copyrights is intended. This fanfic is my original work of fiction based on those characters/that universe._

 **AN:**

 _*Spoilers*_ Set season 8 onwards. Spoilers for/mentions of events prior to that. No season specific angst.

 _*Acknowledgments*_ : Thank you to everyone who commented on, favourited or followed etc. my other fic/s, I really appreciate it. _A special thank you to you, Kathy, for your very kind comments and support._

Also, again, to those who manage/update the Supernatural wiki's, thank you.

Finally, thank you to my beta-'listener'.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 **Bye-Bye Baby, Baby Goodbye**

It was the worst feeling in the world right then.

The Impala was gone.

Really gone.

To say it had all happened too quickly would have been an offensive cliché, had it not been so accurately true. Had it happened any slower, Sam was sure Dean would have found a way to stop it, or to intervene somehow, even if that would have been to just throw himself in front of it as a pointless human speed bump, to get run over and injured and maybe even dragged along and over the edge in the process.

As it was, there had been nothing either of them could do, there had been no time to react as it was happening, only the moment of stunned incomprehension after the immediate act had been witnessed, paralysing them with the shock of it, and then the reality of what they had just witnessed slamming into them like a ten tonne truck, smashing them square in the chest.

The Impala was gone.

Really gone.

The rickety, pointless 'barrier' with warning signs so faded the paint had all but peeled off, now lay in shards and splinters scattered around the dirt, smashed by the force with which the car had crashed into it, and the dust that had risen in the Impala's wake as the car had careened through that fence now hung in the air like a soundless spectre, filling the void where the car had been merely seconds ago, before it had flown over the edge of the ravine and disappeared from their sight. As if there was any doubt, any chance that perhaps some miracle may have occurred, the echoing boom of the explosion sounded out like a death knell seconds later, resonating throughout the valley like a dirge, and the dark grey smoke, almost black, that followed the fireball, rose up like an obscene smoke-signal announcing its demise, put to an end any hopeful delusions that the Impala may have somehow survived. But they had known that, the instant the Impala had left terra firma, they had known that. It was simply far too sheer a drop for anything to survive

So.

The Impala was gone.

Really gone.

The shock that had initially, immediately, immobilised them fractured as if with a whip-crack, Dean obviously recovering from his stupor first, and instantly running forward, and that startled Sam into action, took all of his strength to grab onto his brother, to pull him back, practically throw him to the ground and pin him there. Because he knew there was no question, not a one, that Dean was about to throw himself right over that edge, after his car, after his baby.

"No! Dean no! No! Stop! Stop!"

And Sam pinned him down, held him there with every ounce of strength he had as Dean struggled, fought, squirmed, and then finally, finally, his fight ebbed away and his energies were expended.

Sam sat next to his brother, both looking out across the gorge but, in the wake of what had happened, both blind to any beauty held by the vista before them. They were covered in the dry, pale dust of the canyon, sitting in the cloud that had erupted around them as they'd tussled, now sitting as the dust settled back down, into their hair, onto their clothes, onto their skin, as if it were trying to bury them alive, right there where they sat. It wouldn't have been too inaccurate a sentiment, a part of them _had_ just died.

Sam still had his arm around Dean, hand still clutching the collar of his brother's leather jacket, because he wasn't convinced Dean wouldn't find a second wind of panicked frenzied energy and hurtle himself over that edge.

But Dean couldn't feel Sam's hold, couldn't feel his presence. Wasn't really aware of anything at all apart from the awfulness of what he'd just witnessed, and even that was still beyond his comprehension, was something he couldn't fully process yet.

His baby, his home, was gone. Really, really gone.

No.

But… he knew she was, this time. This time, there would be no hauling her wrecked body back to safety, no putting her back piece by piece, no making sure she was whole again. No patting her hood and knowing she was safe. This was it, was really, really it. And some absurd part of his brain, one that would probably laugh hysterically if Dean could find the oxygen to do it, told him, ' _Hey! At least my baby went down in flames, at least she had a hunters funeral_.', and Dean wanted to scream and run and just cease to exist right there.

Sam wouldn't get it. Dean knew that. Sam wouldn't get an ounce of what Dean felt. He never had, and that made Dean feel completely alone. To Sam, the Impala was just a car, was just a means to an end. Sam had even, on occasion, teased Dean about his attachment, but Dean had let it slide because he just couldn't have explained it to someone who didn't get it. And of all the people in the world, if Sam, _Sam_ , who'd spent so much time with her, had practically grown up in her, if _Sam_ didn't get it, then no one would.

His baby was more than just a car, she was his home, the only home he'd ever really felt safe in. And that home was now gone, obliterated and destroyed at the bottom of that ravine. And what was that thing they said? Home is where the heart is? Well then his heart was right there too, at the bottom of the ravine, beyond any hopes of salvation or reprieve, and suddenly, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see straight, bright and dark spots appearing and flashing in his vision and he felt he was about to throw up.

"You know, I don't think I ever told you…" Sam said, startling him, because Dean felt so alone, felt so abandoned, he'd forgotten about Sam.

But Sam was next to him and Sam wanted to say something and Dean wanted Sam to stop right there, didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to know, because he could tell Sam was about to let him in on some secret confidence or hither to unbeknownst fact, and Dean just couldn't deal with it right then, he just couldn't. Because when had Winchester family confessions and confidences and revelations ever been anything but gut-wrenchingly unbearable?

 _You'll have to kill your brother son;_

 _I tortured souls in hell Sammy;_

 _I drink demon blood Dean._

But as much as he wanted to shut Sam down right there, as much as he couldn't handle whatever god awful truth it was that was about to be ushered and released into the world, unleashed to stab razor blades into his already mutilated and broken heart, as much as he simply _could not_ take another hit, not right then, he just didn't have it in him to put up a fight and tell Sam to stop. Right then, in that moment, he was completely and utterly spent, more than he felt he'd ever been in his life.

It was more than being dead inside, because the dead couldn't feel pain like this, even in hell, and he would know. No, this was more than having his heart ripped out, more than having it trampled on, more than it exploding into a million shards, because at least then he wouldn't feel anymore, wouldn't hurt, wouldn't ache.

No, this? This what he felt right now, inside? It felt like his heart, his guts, hell! Everything inside, it was hypersensitive, was too much, was screaming and being shredded apart. It was like there wasn't enough air, as if all the oxygen in the world had gone and suddenly he just couldn't breathe.

And that pounding, that relentless maddening pounding, that was beating him and beating him and beating him, even though he wasn't even putting up a fight anymore because he just couldn't, just didn't have any fight left in him, that pounding wouldn't stop. That pounding that was making his vision blur and his breath catch and it was taking ALL of anything he had left inside to not just run over the edge of that ravine, that pounding, it crushed everything inside of him and he just didn't have any fight left in him to spare to be able to tell Sam to stop. Please, please stop, because he knew each word Sam would say would just be another blow and he was already beaten so far back and down and out, he couldn't take anymore. But he just couldn't find the energy to beg Sam anything.

So he didn't say anything. And so Sam didn't stop. And there was nothing Dean could do but listen.

"When we were in ….in Stull cemetery. And I… Lucifer… when you confronted us…."

Oh.

There could never be anything good in a conversation that began _'hey, remember that one time I was possessed by the devil and we beat you half to death and then jumped straight into hell?'_.

And Dean was screaming for Sam to stop, to stop, just, Sammy, please, _please_ stop. But he realised after a second that it was just in his head, and it was just an endless scream, no words at all, and he didn't even have it in him to lift his head because there was just no damned fight left.

"I don't think I ever told you what it was that got through, that… that broke through and let me get control."

Please, Sammy, please, _please_ , stop.

"I… we… were standing over you, and… Lucifer was beating the living crap out of you and… I was trapped inside, and believe me man, I was fighting with everything, _everything_ I had to try and get control…. But… But Lucifer, you know, fully powered up… and I could see what he was doing, I could _feel_ my hands doing it, every time they connected with your skin and broke your bones, I could _feel_ it, and I gotta tell you man, it was one of the worst things in my life…. And then there was this moment, when he had my– his fist raised, and I knew, I just _knew_ , the next blow he was gonna kill you and there was nothing I could do. I mean I was fighting _so_ _hard_ but there was _nothing_ I could do …. And then… And then, I swear man, I swear it was as if the car, it… _I don't know_ … I swear she tried to _communicate_ with me! Does that make sense?"

Sam looked over at Dean, as if waiting for some kind of acknowledgment or response, but realised immediately that Dean was too far gone. That Dean was barely holding it together, so he carried on.

"I'm not explaining it well. I mean… I don't know… There was this moment, when the light caught her chrome, and it just shone right in my eyes, like a laser… and I swear Dean, I _swear_ , it was like she was doing it deliberately! You know? And it was _so_ _bright_! … I mean it was like pure white and it… it blinded Lucifer… And right then, I knew I had him. In that moment, in that blinding flash of light, I swear Dean, it was like she was… like she was reaching out to me, you know? Like just channelling everything into me. Everything she'd seen, everything we'd done, every moment we'd spent inside, with her, growing up, laughing, crying, eating, sleeping, playing stupid games, and all the other things… that stupid army man I jammed in the ashtray, and… and your Legos rattling around in the air vent… Just…. just _everything_ man, _our whole lives_ , she just channelled it right into my soul and it was… it was amazing. Like this amazing focussed energy blast, and it was full of love, just pure love and… and _you_ Dean, it was full of _you_ , all the memories of you, and _us_ , and everything. Of our whole lives… And it was all so much more powerful than any of the hate Lucifer could throw at me or anything that he'd ever had, and the power of it, the force of it, he couldn't handle it, it just blinded him. She just… it's like she just blasted him into shock, and at the same time, she pulled me out. I swear man, it's like she reached right in and just pulled me straight out, and I could feel everything she'd seen and been through with us, it was all there and… she saved me Dean. She saved _us_. She always saved us."

And Sam didn't know when the tears had started but he wiped them absentmindedly with the back of his hand as he looked at Dean, Dean whose head was no longer bowed down and Dean who was now looking at him, face equally tearstained and breaths shallow.

There was a long silence, a long pause, and Sam didn't know how to fill it. He felt spent. He'd never told Dean any of that, never even confronted that memory himself really, because it was just so surreal. But having aired it, having gotten it out, there was no take-backs, no retracting. The Impala had done something. Or maybe God or something had done something. But either way, it had been _her_ , the Impala, Dean's baby that had gotten through to him. And Sam knew he'd never feel the same as Dean did, never have that bond. But that didn't mean he hadn't bonded. That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"You never referred to her as 'her' before." Dean commented finally, voice raw but at least whole. And it was true; when Sam had been in the middle of his speech, at first Dean hadn't known who he'd been talking about when he'd called his baby 'her', because to Sam, she'd never been more than an inanimate object. Or at least, Dean had never realised she had.

"Yeah… well… she…. We've spent our whole lives with her Dean, so…. I _do_ get it you know. It's like she's always been our guardian. Or our witness… you know? She'd been with us for everything…. She was your baby but… my first nursery ceiling that I remember is the inside of her roof. The first time I realised I was growing up was when I couldn't fit to hide under the front seat, or when my legs started having to hang out the window when I lay in the back. I grew up hearing the sound of her engine, fell asleep to that sound more often than not, used to wait for it when you and Dad went off on a hunt, and I'd recognise it a mile off. I… I get it, Dean. I do."

Another pause, and Dean looked out across the ravine, his breathing a lot calmer, though his eyes were gritty, swollen, raw and red.

"We won't get her back this time, will we?" And it didn't need a response from Sam, but Sam shook his head all the same. Dean took a shuddering breath and Sam's grip on his shoulder reflexively tightened. "I just… I keep playing it back. Could I have done something? Did I miss something?"

"No Dean. No. This wasn't on us. We couldn't have burnt the bones any quicker. The fact the he slammed into her before we finished… I don't know. We couldn't have done it any quicker."

"I should have parked her somewhere else."

"Don't do this Dean. Come on…"

"The grenade launcher! Damn it!"

"What?"

"The grenades! If I didn't keep them in the trunk maybe she wouldn't have exploded. Damn it!"

"Dean, stop. Stop. This isn't on you man. Or me. It's just… It wasn't our fault."

"…It's not even like she'll get to heaven. She's just… just gone. I can't… She's really just gone."

"I know, I know…." And Sam could feel himself losing his grip on his brother, knew he had to say something to pull him back again from that precipice of despair. "Hey... Hey remember when we drove to that Ozzy gig? What was that, like a 1,000 miles? … And that Jayhawks game?"

Dean nodded, but still too distantly. "Two days straight. Best ride of my life."

"Right?... And hey, remember that first time you let me take her out by myself?"

That finally caught Dean's attention more deeply, a distant memory lighting behind his eyes, breaking through his despondence like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "It was for a date right?" And he smiled, as if Sam was 15 again and standing right in front of him.

"Yeah… Yeah, you were so anal about my not scratching her, kept telling me not to park her too close to the curb, and to keep three meters away from other cars at all times. Made me drive around the lot like 50 times while you corrected me on everything I did."

"Hey, I'd seen you drive."

"I was, _am_ , a good driver."

"Not at 15 you weren't! Use to trip over your own feet standing still."

"Whatever man, you were a jerk. And you slipped condoms in the glove compartment! I mean seriously? Do you have _any_ idea how embarrassing that was when I opened it and they fell out on her lap?"

And Dean laughed and Sam could have cried for joy at hearing that sound. "I think in that situation it's called _love_ compartment Sammy. And hey! My baby can keep you safe only so far." And then he remembered the inaccuracy of the tense he'd just used and looked away. But he was trying, Sam could see that. It was Dean after all, fighter-survivor extraordinaire. The only one who could get through hell and come out swinging. "What was her name? Sally? Suzanne?"

"Susie."

"Susie! Ah… Susie. She was out of your league you know. I'll never understand how you managed to get her to look twice at you." Dean cocked his head sideways at Sam when he didn't respond, only to see Sam shake his head and grin. "What?"

"You… Turns out she only wanted me coz of the car. She was really into cars. Like, _really_."

Dean smirked, raised an eyebrow. "Girl on girl action, nothing wrong with that…. I meant Susie and my baby, not you and Susie… coz, you know, Susie was a girl, you're a girl…"

"Shut up..."

This time the silence was more amenable, although nothing really could cleanse the sorrow that immediately crept back in to colour their world. The sun had a travelled a little across the wide open expanse of sky by the time Sam finally spoke up again.

"We'd better go, before the authorities turn up. They would've seen the smoke by now."

"No one will come."

"But they might. Come on Dean, we can't stay here."

Dean sighed but nodded, accepting Sam's hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, Sam's other hand briefly clapping him on the shoulder as if trying to transfer any energy into him that Sam could spare. They both stood stiffly, shaking off the dust but without any discernible results.

"I need… I need to see." Dean said, and walked over to the edge before Sam could stop him.

He stood dangerously close to the drop, enough to make stones and dirt in the loosened ground slide down and enough to make Sam nervous as he came and stood with him, not quite shoulder to shoulder, hand raised pre-emptively in case Dean leaned over too far. He could see Dean's eyes scanning the drop, clearly looking for any kind of pathway or means to climb down. Nothing sprang out at them. And they couldn't see the wreckage, only the remnants of flames and explosions.

"We'll come back." Sam said, anticipating Dean's thought process. "We'll figure out a way down. But right now we _need_ to leave."

Dean looked at him but his eyes betrayed his indecision. He was wavering, and again Sam worried that he was contemplating jumping straight down. He reached a hand out and pulled Dean back gently.

"I promise dude, we'll come back. But we gotta go." And he pulled more forcefully till Dean relented and took two steps back.

"We need to find something of her… Anything. All I need is one good piece, even if that's all there is, and I can rebuild her. Just one. Doesn't even have to be complete, just…. something. Anything."

"Okay. But not now, later."

And reluctantly, with Sam guiding him and keeping a watchful eye on him, Dean relented and they left.

They somehow managed to make it back to the motel, where at least their clothes were still stowed, and at Dean's insistence, they went to the local authorities, dressed in their usual FBI garb, under the pretence of needing to salvage any remains from a car at they'd tracked to the bottom of the ravine, a car that might contain potentially vital evidence for some undisclosed case the details of which they weren't permitted to divulge.

The local authorities would have laughed at them had Dean not been so intimidating in his sorrow, and Sam would've told him to tone it down had he thought it would make any difference.

It was already well into the afternoon on the following day by the time they finally managed to commission a chopper to take them close enough to see where the wreckage should have been, but it was obvious that nothing had survived. Sam didn't say it out loud, but Dean had been right; the grenades had truly obliterated everything. There was nowhere for the helicopter to land and again Sam found himself clinging on to his brother, holding him back, feeling his muscles as they tensed under the fabric of his suit jacket, sensing his temptation to jump.

After that, when they were back on solid ground, Dean retreated into himself, quiet and unnervingly compliant. As much as it made Sam nervous though, he used it to his advantage, bungling Dean into the first car off the lot he could buy and aiming it straight back to the bunker.

The drive was long, every noise and creek from this new ride, jarring and offensive. Sam tried to strike up conversation, and the two would reminisce for a few miles, but then Dean would retreat back to silence, staring out the window. He was deep in mourning and Sam knew there was nothing he could do.

It was well past midnight by the time they finally got back, Sam driving the car directly in to the bunker's garage. He wasn't going to park it in the Impala's spot, obviously, but still, they had both expected the spot to be vacant.

Obviously.

Except it wasn't.

She was there.

Bright, clean, not a scratch.

They both blinked. Shared a look, Dean sitting up and leaning forward, then cautiously emerging with Sam close behind.

"What…. Dude what?!" Sam's eyes were wide, but Dean was looking angry, and Sam didn't get that at all.

"What the hell! Wh–… is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Human concepts of humour, ill or otherwise, have always baffled me." A man, very slight, very pale, very small of stature, stepped out from the shadows just the behind the Impala. He was at once nondescript, ordinary almost to the point of dullness and obscurity, and yet there was something intensely unnerving about him, as though the air in his presence was humming with static energy and as though beneath the calm veneer of his superficial appearance was an unimaginable depth of power and supremacy. And his calm was one that made Sam and Dean nervous, was like the calm of someone who was incapable of being threatened. Of someone who knew no fear.

"Who the hell're you? How'd you get in?" Dean demanded, gun already in hand and aimed at the intruder.

The man looked from Dean to Sam, then back at Dean again.

"You should take better care of your vessel."

"That's not my vessel and you didn't answer my question. Who the hell are you? I won't ask you again."

"My name is Barachiel."

"Sounds like an angelic name." Sam ventured, having edged around to stand closer to Dean, his own gun also in hand, but not yet aimed.

The man blinked slowly and dipped his head ever so slightly as if to affirm this but it wasn't good enough for Dean.

"You got a problem 'bout how this works? I'll make it simple. He asked you a question, now you answer. Or else I shoot you in the head. It's not complicated."

"Yes. I am an angel of the Lord. And his was a statement, not a question."

"And you… you did this?" Again it was Sam, trying his best to keep the situation from escalating out of hand, sensing Dean's temper rising. "You bought the Impala back?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"Vessels ordained by the Lord are not to be discarded lightly."

" _Vessels ordained by…!_ " For some reason his reply only served in agitating Dean further. "You're trying to tell me that _God_ saved the Impala? Why? Huh?! Why the hell would _God_ bother to interfere with this when he can't get off his sorry ass for anything else? No, you're no angel, you're a sorry ass demon and it's time I sent you straight back to hell." And with that, Dean emptied his entire clip into the man.

It had no effect. The man only sighed, a long drawn out, exasperated exhale, as though he were dealing with a child and his patience had worn thin.

"God ordained it and thus his will is done. Your vessel is my charge. And you should not speak of my Father as you do. You should show him respect, for all the blessings he has bestowed upon you and your human-kind."

"Wait a minute. Wait." Sam held up his hand, hoping again to pacify the situation and avert any of the ire brewing in the air, both from Dean and this supposed angel. "Vessel ordained by God? The _Impala_? Are you serious?"

The man turned his attention to Sam at that.

"You should study your scriptures with more care, Sam Winchester."

"Scriptures… Right. Because they were _always_ talking about sleek black muscle cars in the Old Testament." And despite his efforts, Sam hadn't been able to keep the sarcastic and brittle edge from his tone.

But the angel didn't rise to it, simply smiled. "No. You should study _your_ scriptures."

"Yeah you said that alread–" But before Dean could add anything to that, the angel was gone. "Son of a….!" And he turned to Sam. "Seriously dude? An angel? A friggin' angel? _Really_?"

"What else could it be Dean? The bunker's warded against pretty much everything else…. Maybe… you think maybe it's… her?"

And they both finally looked at the car.

"I mean." Sam continued, cautiously, sneaking a peek at his brother before looking back at the car. "It _looks_ like her."

"So did three other cars on the lot the day Dad bought her. Didn't make 'em her."

But Dean moved cautiously closer nonetheless, leaning down to peer in through the window, before straightening and doing a slow circuit all the way around, eyes going over every inch and comparing it to the mental image Sam knew Dean had, the details of which were recorded with a perfect accuracy that only Dean could recall. Sam realised he'd been holding his breath while awaiting Dean's assessment and released it slowly as Dean came back to stand by the driver side door.

"Well?" He asked finally, not able to wait any longer.

"It… It _does_ look like her." Dean said at last, but he sounded so unsure Sam still didn't know what to think. Dean pulled out the Impala keys that were still in his jacket pocket and tentatively tried the door. It unlocked and swung open, the unmistakable creak resonating through the otherwise silent garage. Sam knew that sound off by heart. It was note perfect.

"You think God really brought her back?" Sam asked again, hopeful and hope growing. But Dean was still angry.

"Why the hell would God do anything for us? Hmm? I mean when was the last time he ever bothered to take an interest?"

"Come on Dean. He _has_ saved us a few times. Maybe–"

"No! No, whatever this is… No. It's someone's idea of a sick joke. There's gotta be a catch. Hell Sammy, when do we _ever_ get anything good happen to us without a cosmic price-tag attached?"

"He didn't say anything about a catch."

"Why would he? Angels are dicks. If he even _was_ an angel."

"Well. I don't know. It looks and sounds like her man. Look inside."

Dean hesitated a moment, before going down and leaning inside the car. His eyes scanned for all the tell-tale signs that only he and Sam would know to look for. He pulled the upholstery aside; there were their initials carved into the rear window deck. He checked the ash tray in the door; there was the green army man wedged in the cavity. He even peered into the air vent and managed to see signs of the Lego's he'd jammed in there as a child, though he couldn't be sure until he heard them rattle. Hell, it even smelt like her. Again he straightened up, this time heading to the back and opening the boot, rooting for the secret compartment. The guns were there, along with all the other hunting paraphernalia; lore books, fake ID's, holy water, witch killing bullets. Even the grenade launcher and ammo.

Finally he slammed the trunk down and came back to stand next to Sam.

"Okay fine. Maybe…. But I'm still not sure. There's gotta be a catch… Or something."

"Well how can we know for sure Dean?"

Dean hesitated a moment before rolling his eyes. "Cas! Cas get your ass down here!"

There was the tell-tale fluttering sound of wings and a slight rush of air as the angel appeared beside them.

"Dean... Sam." But then he paused, tilted his head as if listening for something. "Another angel has been here."

It was a statement, not a question, but he looked at both of them for confirmation. They nodded.

"Why?" He asked.

" _Why?_? Why don't you tell us?" Dean waved his hand. "Use your angel mojo or whatever it is you guys do."

"Cas, thanks for coming." Sam interjected, giving Dean a sidelong glance. "The Impala got destroyed, then we got back here and it was back. And an angel, called himself Bara… Barac-ob…?"

"Barachiel." Dean supplied and Cas' face registered acknowledgement of the name.

"Right! Barachiel, appeared and said the car was a vessel ordained by God? I mean, what the hell Cas?"

"Barachiel is a Leader of the one of the highest orders of Guardian Angels. He is a prince of Heaven."

"So… So what he said about the Impala… being a vessel…"

"Yes. The Impala is a vessel of the Lord, imbued with Divine Grace…. Did you not know this?" And Cas seemed genuinely puzzled.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look before facing him again.

"How the hell would we know that Cas?" Dean demanded.

"Do you not read your scriptures?"

"That's what he said!" Sam stated. "Except I'm pretty sure they don't mention Impala in the Bible."

Cas opened his mouth to respond but Dean got in first, half turning to his brother. "Well hold on a minute, I mean it _does_ mention gazelle and antelope."

Sam stared at Dean in utter confusion. "… _What?_?"

"In the Bible." Dean went on. "In Samuel actually." And he smirked, but then catching Sam's annoyed confusion he clarified, his own annoyance flaring. "Well an impala is a type of antelope ... _What_? I can know stuff!"

"So you know _this_ but you don't know to screw the cap back onto toothpaste?"

"Oh like you're such a saint with your bathroom habits! Leaving your nasty floss everywhere!"

Cas looked back and forth between them as the brother's glared at each other, before tentatively speaking up.

"I am unclear…. Do you still require clarification about your car?"

They both turned to him, answering simultaneously.

"Yes!"

"Very well. Dean you're right, the Bible does indeed mention antelope, but in this case I don't believe Barachiel was referencing the current Testaments or animals. I believe he was referring directly to the Impala and to _your_ scriptures…. The Winchester Gospels."

"The Winchester _what_ now?" Dean asked, but Sam had cottoned on.

"You mean, Carver Edlund's books? Chucks books? The Supernatural series?"

"Of course."

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean jumped in before Sam could comment further. "Back-up here. So if it's true then… _Imbued with Divine Grace_? What the hell Cas?"

"Hell has nothing to do with it. Your vessel, the Impala, it is imbued with Divine Grace, touched by the Lord and as such blessed by the protection of the Prince of Heaven. I'm sorry, Dean, but I don't understand your confusion about this."

"My confusion…? Why would God imbue my car with his Grace? What does that even mean!? Imbue. It sounds… inappropriate! Sounds dirty!"

"It's far from dirty Dean. It is the essence of a purity beyond any measure or comparison. And why would he not? It is your vessel after all. You are his chosen warriors. And she is your chosen guardian and companion."

"Imbued how Cas?" Sam interjected. "I mean, is she… _alive_?"

"Your car does not have a soul. But… it is not quite…" And for once it was the angel who seemed to be struggling with something. "Your vessel is touched by God. It will always be safe. It will accompany you as long as you desire it. As for alive… Life is not a concept I can explain to you. There are many forms of life that are non-sentient. Many forms of sentience that are not strictly alive. Why is this troubling you? Both of you?"

And it was that question really that hit the mark because they _were_ troubled, Dean in particular. And yet neither could say why. Dean however was the first to respond.

"Can she… I mean, does she… _feel_ anything? Does she feel pain?" And Dean couldn't keep a flush of shame from flooding into his features, specifically as the memory of how badly he had beaten her after John had died resurfaced in his mind, and he bit his lip habitually.

"No." At his answer Dean's shoulders relaxed a notch and he let out a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. His relief was short lived however as he posed another question that was concerning him.

"But is she… uhm… Is she aware? I mean, is she… _watching_ us when we're in her? Coz… I mean… we've done some stuff…" And Sam knew exactly what Dean was thinking and his own colour rose in embarrassment as he shuffled uneasily on his feet.

"No, Dean. She does not feel and she is not watching you. Although she _does_ watch over you, but that is not the same." At that answer Dean, as well as Sam, seemed visibly relieved, though Dean was still not completely reassured.

"And it's _really_ her?" Dean pressed. "Not some double or replica? It's really, _really_ her?"

"Yes."

"No strings attached?"

"Strings?"

"No… hidden conditions. No tricks or contract. She's just back?"

"Of course." And Castiel seemed offended. "Barachiel would not barter over his charge."

And at that response, Dean finally let go of his remaining reservations. He blinked, allowing the reality of having his beloved Impala back flood into him before slapping Sam on the back, hard enough to jolt Sam forward and cause him to take a step to stop from toppling over.

"Ya hear that Sammy! My baby's back! And divine no less! Ha!" And he grinned broadly, rubbing his hands together as he stepped back towards the Impala and climbed in. He sat in the driver's seat, running his hands over the steering wheel and stroking the dash.

Cas looked confused, and he leaned towards Sam. "Am I missing something?" He asked in a quiet, cautious tone.

"No." Sam replied, unable to censor the broad smile that was on his face. "No, just… it's good to know she's back."

"I see." Although Sam suspected perhaps the angel didn't really. "Is there anything else you two require from me?"

Sam shook his head, was about to thank him but he was already gone. He was still shaking his head as Dean leaned his own out from the window.

"What d'ya say we give my baby a ride on the open road, huh? Get rid of those angel cobwebs. You hungry?"

"Dude, it's close to three in the morning! And we've been driving like 6 hours straight."

"Wrong, _you've_ been driving six hours straight. In a rust bucket. Plus, some place's gotta be doing an early bird special right? C'mon Sammy, I'm itching to give her a spin."

And how could Sam refuse. He didn't even want to really. He climbed into the passenger side, his cheeks beginning to ache from the smile he just couldn't supress at being back inside the car. Back home.

"You think angels know to fill up gas tanks before returning a car?"

"Not a car, Sammy. Vessel ordained by God. She's practically an angel. But not the douche kind! More like… Victoria Secrets! Isn't that right baby?"

He turned the key and the engine came to life, the loud initial growl giving way to a low steady rumble as Dean finally stopped revving the engine.

"Listen to her purr Sammy. Isn't that the best sound you ever heard?"

"You sure you want me along Dean? I could leave you two alone…?"

"Hey, don't listen to him baby, he loves you too, whatever he says."

Sam just snorted, but didn't bother deny it because there was nothing to deny.

Instead he settled back and enjoyed Dean's good mood as they pulled out from the bunker and peeled away, the deep tenor of the engine dancing on the night air, the old classic rock tape blasting from the deck, the groove in the seat that was as though carved just for his form cradling him like a parent, and let the feelings, the relief, the security of being home wash over him.

The Impala was back.

Really back.

It was the best feeling in the world right then.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 _The End._

 _Thank you for reading._


End file.
